


Wandering

by cacaophany



Series: Sasha James and the Untold Horrors After Her Supposed Death [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Season 2 spoilers, Statement, general horror, this better become canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:30:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacaophany/pseuds/cacaophany
Summary: CASE #0171403STATEMENT OF: Anonymous,REGARDING: being Somewhere, lost.ORIGINAL STATEMENT found 14th March, 2017.





	Wandering

### STATEMENT BEGINS

I don't know where I am. The world around me is a blank, cavernous space with no walls and no end in sight. I don't know how long I've been in here, walking. That's all there is to do in here, walk, and hope that maybe you'll come across something new in this horrid landscape. There's never anything new. Each way you turn is the same and no matter how far you walk it never changes. But after the first few... days? weeks? months? the relief of simply screaming wears off and your throat is too sore to make a sound so all there is left to do is... walk. Obviously this place doesn't give me a lot to write about, but... I know that... _someone_ will want to know what's been happening. 

It's funny. I have the strongest feeling that writing this statement is important, to record what's happening to me. I don't know, I guess it's just a way for me to fight off insanity. There's not much of a fight left before I lose it. I mean, I can't remember who I am; not my name or my life before this, if there ever was a life before. It feels all... blurred out, like my memories were etched into sand and the tide has come and taken it all away. I try to remember... but there's nothing here to prompt me, and when I try to remember I feel nauseous and I hear this awful ringing in my ears. Sometimes it sounds like a scream, like _my_ scream. I've tried to decipher the first few pages in this notebook, but when I try to read them they swarm off the page and the floor lurches under me. I try not to think about the gaping hole in my memory. I try not to think much at all.

* * *

There are other people here. Few, but more than you would think. They don't seem... _aware,_ like I am. They walk through the darkness without saying anything to me, without seeing that I'm right there in front of them. They mutter to themselves, like when you walk through a doorway and you can't remember for the life of you what you went into the room for, except they- _we_ can't remember our entire lives. 

At first I tried to talk to them, but their eyes glazing over me like I wasn't there was worse... It was worse than not seeing them at all. The thought that I was not alone was at first comforting, but now I can only think of it with growing terror. One day, will I walk around like them? Listless and unseeing, caught up chasing the feeling of a memory, even if it makes me sick? I've caught myself muttering as well, when I'm alone. The sound of my voice is soothing in this dark place.

Recently I've started following one of the other people here. She hasn't acknowledged my presence, and whenever she turns and looks over me I have to fight down a burst of crazed panic to not run off into the darkness, but being near another person is... reassuring. She's an elderly woman, somewhere in her fifties or sixties, short brown hair neatly cropped, taller than average. I guess I thought she seemed more alive than the rest of them, but it appears the scowl on her face was more of a habit than due to any active thought. She doesn't say much. Just mutters to herself. Like we all do.

I tried talking to her. Not often, not very much. I mean, it's not like there's many things to talk about here. I said once, "I think I miss the trees." It was odd to say, for I had no memory of what trees I meant, and even picturing the _idea_ of trees in my mind left a high-pitched buzzing in my ears. I screwed my eyes shut, chanting to myself to stop trying... to stop trying to remember the trees, to stop trying to remember anything at all. 

When I straightened from being curled over, I saw that the woman had stopped walking. She slowly turned around and I braced myself for her cold, empty gaze. She was... Her eyes locked with mine, _truly_ seeing me and she was... weeping. Her mouth started to open. I turned and I ran, so fast that I didn't hear whatever she opened her mouth to say and I didn't _want_ to hear it. I just... kept running. I haven't seen her since.

* * *

This place is not normal. I don't know how I know, but by all accounts I should be dead. Dehydration should have killed me after three days... starvation by a month. I don't know how long it's been. I guess could have been a year, but maybe I've only been in here for a few hours... Time here is strange... I don't sleep, but I'm never tired and never well-rested. I don't eat or drink but I've never felt anything but slightly thirsty or slightly hungry. I don't feel much of anything at all, not the ache that should come to my feet, or the pain of my skin when I pinch myself. One time I tried to count as high as I could, desperate to recreate the sound of seconds, but every time I got above thirty the numbers would start to muddle up in my head and I would have to stop myself from rattling off a sequence of numbers that left me confused and dazed and baffled... 

How long have I been here? Have I ever been anywhere else? It's so hard to remember... It might've been days or months or years or hours or minutes... I'm rambling.

* * *

I have started trying to remember again. It's like pulling out teeth, but you don't have any clamps or forceps, only your clumsy, human fingers clawing at the well-rooted teeth in your mouth. It's hard to focus on anything else but the shadow of a memory, and now I understand why the others do not see me. Sometimes it feels like my memories are a trap... Or is that what this place wants me to think? I don't know, but I decide to keep trying. 

My memories lead me nowhere except to a pounding, shrill headache. I don't know how long I spent trying to remember, chasing down the faintest whiff of a memory only to be distracted by another just at the edge of my conscious mind. I've decided to turn back to this notebook. The first few pages must give me some clue, some vague idea of who I am, who I was... I still cannot read them, but if I focus hard I can make out a letter at a time. I can read what I've written while here. Maybe if I transcribe it... a letter at a time...

There is something written in the inside cover. 

**IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO-**

I can barely see. My eyes are burning, like I've stared at the sun. The sun. I miss the sun, I think. I apologise for my handwriting, if you're reading this. If anyone is reading this... My head hurts too much to think... I must continue. 

**RETURN TO S-**

One more word. I'm so close. 

**SASHA.**

Sasha. Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha Sasha SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA _SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA **SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA SASHA**_

* * *

_My name is Sasha,_ according to this book. I've been chanting it like a prayer for however long now. I don't care. I have _**my name**_. My name is Sasha. It feels strange, having a name and nothing else. But it's more than I had. I can't make out anything else from the front of the book. My eyesight starts blurring. Having a name, the _concept_ of a name doesn't feel real, and every so often I catch myself forgetting it. But I turn back to the book and it's there, clear as day. Sasha. 

My name is Sasha, and I am lost in a never ending, featureless world. I don't know how long I have been here, or if I will ever return, or if anyone will ever read this. Maybe if I die someone will find this statement on my body. I don't think it's possible to die here, in this place. I'm keeping this statement with me, if only to remind me of a fraction of my time here.

* * *

There is a door.

* * *

### STATEMENT ENDS.


End file.
